You Don't Sound Like a Roman
by OrdinaryExtraordinaryHuman
Summary: "Martha felt a connection with this man. She knew that he was just as displaced from his home as she was from her. They were kindred souls, weathering time, and when he looked at her, she knew that he saw it as well." 1913, Martha meets Rory. No pairings


**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, but sometimes I like to pretend I do. This happens to be the product of my madness. Enjoy**

**This is NOT a Martha/Rory pairing. They're just two lonely people who find friends in each other. **

1913

"Come _on_, Miss Jones" Mr. Smith said, shaking his head impatiently, "kindly remember we have a time limit. Your job is to watch the boys, not to stand there gawking at the art."

Martha resisted the urge to glare at him. They were in the National Museum and she couldn't even look around. She sighed; she had loved this place as a kid. Practically begged her mum and her dad to bring her here every weekend. Leo and Tish had hated it, but it was just so _exciting. _There was always something new to learn, something exotic to see. But those days had ended, far to abruptly for Martha's taste. She couldn't remember exactly when her mum and dad had stopped speaking to each other. When Tish was mad she used to say Martha had been too wrapped up in her own world to see what was going on around her, couldn't even see her family crumbling to pieces. Those were the nights when Martha would lock herself in her room, wondering if she had remained oblivious simply because she hadn't wanted to see it.

But still, this place held happy memories for her. A time when imagination reigned supreme and childhood innocence had shone as bright as the smiles on her parent's faces. Even now, 90 some years before her time, she could still feel the mystery of the place drawing her forwards. When she was a child she had been free to come and go as she pleased; unfortunately, she was anything but now; just a maid come to supervise the children.

She followed behind the line of boys from Farringham Academy, occasionally hurrying them forward, but for the most part just making sure they didn't wander off. They were headed to the medieval exhibit next and the boys were eager to see weapons of the past. Perhaps they wouldn't be so eager if they knew what would happen in the next year. How many of these young boys would be sent to the trenches, for king and for country, to return with the pain of loss in their eyes? How many would return at all?

She closed her eyes, a half remembered phrase flowing from her lips;

"_My friend, you would not tell with such high zest_

_To children ardent for some desperate glory, _

_The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est _

_Pro patria mori."_

"What was that you said?"

Martha jumped slightly and turned around, "nothing Mr. Smith."

He nodded, in that vague way of his, "very well then" and went to gather the lads to move to the next room.

She couldn't quite bring herself to follow just yet. Sometimes, thoughts of the future were a little too painful to bear. To distract herself she looked around. There were some grisly weapons hanging of the walls, but she noticed a small door in the far corner of the room. She looked down the corridor, where the sounds of voices were fading, but curiosity eventually over came her and she moved to the door.

It was wood, and very stiff, creaking as she pushed it open.

She stepped into a slightly dusty corridor. About ten meters down the hall was another door, which Martha quickly moved towards. The tell tale signs of excitement fluttered in stomach. It was a feeling she'd been missing. She used to feel it all the time, traveling with The Doctor, but lately it had been lacking from her life. There was _nothing _exciting about being a maid serving stuck up boys and teachers.

The room beyond the door was darker then the lighted halls of the museum. A thin film of dust covered the windows and the air smelt slightly musty.

But those were things Martha only noticed in passing, because sitting there, in the middle of the room, was a huge box. It was unlike any box Martha had ever seen before. It had to be at least ten feet by ten feet, and it had strange carvings in the center of each side. Some circular pattern carved into the stone.

There was a sign, attached to the top of the box and Martha squinted to read the painted letters.

THE PANDORICA

The pandorica? What was that? She had certainly never heard of it before.

There was a faint rattling coming from the other side of the room and Martha moved to walk around the box. She had only just rounded one corner when she saw a man stand up.

He was wearing roman armor of all things.

"Hello," he said, straightening his back.

Martha raised an eyebrow at his accent.

"What?" he asked, looking slightly uncomfortable. Though that might just have been the armor.

"You certainly don't _sound_ like a Roman"

He stared at her in shock for as second before he threw his head back and laughed. Martha couldn't help but smile in return.

"No," he said, still chuckling. "I suppose I don't. But that's because I'm English, not Roman. I'm Rory." He stuck his hand out for her to shake. She looked down at his hand thoughtfully for a moment. No one in this time period would voluntarily shake her hand.

"Martha" she replied, grasping his hand and firmly shaking it. "You're not from around here are you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm a black women as well as a maid, which you can clearly see from my dress, but you shook my hand anyways. Not many people would do that, certainly not from around here."

He narrowed his eyes slightly, and looked more closely at her. "Perhaps I think women ought to be treated equally and that race and color shouldn't matter. But you're right; I'm not from here. But then again, neither are you."

Martha smiled. "So, Rory, why is an Englishman dressed as a Roman, in a room with a big box?"

He looked towards the pandorica and rested a hand lightly on the surface.

"I'm guarding the pandorica, I always have and I always will."

"Why?"

"Because what's inside is more precious then the world."

And she understood, she really did. After all, wasn't she doing the same thing, taking abuse from all sides just so she could be close to the doctor, so she could protect him. Even though he treated her like a servant, and even though she hated the damn place, she would always be there for him.

Rory saw the weariness in her face. He watched this strange maid sag slightly and exhale.

She looked up at him, "Sometimes you just want to go home, don't you?"

He nodded

"But you won't, will you?"

He nodded again. "I don't even have a home. The museum gave me a room, but I prefer being in here."

Martha suddenly felt a connection with this man. Somehow, she knew that he was just as displaced from his home as she was from her. They were kindred souls, weathering time, and when he looked at her, she knew that he saw it as well.

"When are you from," he asked her.

"Twenty-first century," Martha replied, confirming his suspicion.

"Me too, it must be hard for you, being here."

"You have no idea. I'm studying to be a doctor back home but no one here takes me seriously, they treat me like an object without feelings."

"I'm sorry," Rory said, sitting down and motioning for Martha to sit as well.

"And I know it's important that I protect him, what with the things that are after him, but it's so frustrating," it was like she had opened a damn. All the complaints she'd been piling up for the past six weeks had taken a life of their own and sprang forth, gushing from her mouth.

"He treats me the same as everyone else does and sometimes I want to scream! Why did he have to pick here, why now? He doesn't even remember me, thinks I'm his damn maid and nothing else. Not to mention most of the boys are horrid and the headmaster has a serious case of the grab hands, I can't even send a formal complaint because they'd sack me for good."

Rory patted her arm. He'd long ago gotten used to the stares, the rude comments, and the noises of disbelief from people. He'd had a lifetime and more to get used to it. But he felt bad for Martha, it must be so much worse for her. He could tell she was lonely.

"And" she said as her anger dissipated, leaving only sadness and loneliness, "The Doctor had to go and fall in love."

She'd had her heart broken as well, poor girl. No wonder she was so miserable –wait? Did she just say, the doctor?

"The Doctor," he said, "you know the Doctor?

She looked at him in surprise, "do you?"

He nodded.

"I think I should tell you the whole story. It all started when my fiancée, Amy, was a little girl…"

"So you've been with the Pandorica ever since then?" Martha asked.

Rory nodded. Martha put her hand out to touch the box.

"I'd like to meet her one day, your Amy."

"I think she'd like you as well."

"What about the doctor?" Martha asked tentatively.

"I've got another ninety years or so until he shows up with a plan," Rory looked down at her, "but that's not what you meant is it?"

She shook her head, "I mean, is he alright? The doctor, _my _doctor, well, he's lost some one, some one close to him-" Martha cleared her throat, shoving all the unshed tears and emotion away, before continuing. "He's so lonely, but he won't even let me help. I try and try, but he doesn't even see me."

"I know how that feels," seeing the questioning look in her eyes he continued, "for the longest time I thought I was second best in Amy's eyes. I thought she would always choose the Doctor over me. But she didn't, she choose _marry_ me, to _love _me. But, knowing the Doctor, I expect he needs you more then you think. I've had a lot of time to think about it and I do believe he is lonely, and you can help that just by being there for him."

Martha looked at him.

"Thanks," she said, smiling. "That's the nicest think anyone's said to me in weeks."

Martha stood up and reached a hand into her pocket. She brought out a pocket watch and flipped it open to look at the time.

She gasped. "Oh no! I'm so late! They've probably left without me, I've got to get back."

Rory stood as well.

"If I'm sacked I hope you know I'm blaming you," she said with a twitch of her lips to let him know she was joking.

"You can always stay with me," he added.

"I think not," Martha huffed, "what would your fiancée think?" She said primly.

Rory winked.

"You'd best be off though. It was nice meeting you, Martha."

"It was nice meeting you as well Rory, and good luck."

"And Martha, if you're ever in town again-" he stopped, but she could hear the plea in his voice. He was lonely too.

"I'll come visit, I promise."

**What do you think?**

**I'm thinking of writing another one for 1969, because Martha did promise she'd come see him again….**

**Reviews are always welcome. **


End file.
